successful. Not long after Nizam’s death, the Sultan Malik also died – of a stomach complaint,
apparently. One of Nizam’s sons, Fakhri, was killed in Naishapur; he had been accosted by a beggar who said: “The true Moslems are no more and there are none left to take the hand of
the afflicted.” As Fahri reached for alms, he was stabbed to the heart. Nizam’s other son, Ahmed, laid siege to the castle of Alamut; the inhabitants suffered severe hardships, but
again it proved impregnable. Ahmed was later stabbed by an assassin, but he recovered.
The candidates for assassination were always carefully chosen. Hasan played his game like a master chess player. The death of Malik Shah brought on a struggle for power at court; the new Sultan,
Berkyaruq, had to defend his throne against his half-brothers. Hasan lent his support to Berkyaruq, and assassinated a number of Berkyaruq’s enemies. Berkyaruq’s officers formed an
uneasy liaison with the Assassins. So when Berkyaruq finally put down the rebellion, Hasan was allowed to operate in peace for a few years.
But he continued to practise the arts of infiltration and intimidation; Ismailis joined Berkyaruq’s army, and made converts. When officers opposed them, they were silenced with the threat
of assassination. A point came where no one in authority dared to go out without armour under his robes. Leaders of rival religious sects were murdered. One opponent was stabbed in the mosque as he
knelt at prayers, even though a bodyguard was standing directly behind him. Eventually – in 1101 – Berkyaruq lost his temper and decided it was time to destroy the Ismailis. He combined
with his half-brother Sanjar to attack the stronghold at Quhistan; the armies laid waste the countryside, destroying the crops, and would have captured the main stronghold (Tabas) if the Ismailis
had not bribed the enemy general to go away – a typically oriental touch. Sanjar made other attempts to subjugate the Ismailis; but eventually came to tolerate them. The historian Juvanyi
tells a story to explain this. Hasan managed to bribe one of Sanjar’s guards to stick a dagger into the ground near his head, when Sanjar lay in a drunken sleep. Shortly thereafter, Sanjar
received a message from Hasan that said: “That dagger could just as easily have been stuck in your heart.” Sanjar saw the wisdom of tolerating the Ismailis.
Nevertheless, Hasan’s dreams began to collapse within a few years of his greatest triumphs. In 1094, the Fatimid Caliph – spiritual head of the Ismailis – died in Cairo. Nizar
– Hasan’s patron – should have replaced him. Instead, the Vizier, Al-Afdal, put Nizar’s younger brother on the throne. There was a war, and Nizar was killed. Hasan remained
faithful to Nizar (in fact, his sect called themselves the Nizam); he refused to acknowledge the new Sultan. So he was now isolated from his own co-religionists. After Berkyaruq turned against him,
it was all the Assassins could do to hold on to their territories. At eighty-seven, he was getting tired; he could not afford to defy the whole Arab world forever. But before the Caliph and the Old
Man of the Mountain could make peace, the new Vizier discovered a plot by the Assassins to murder the Caliph. In all probability, there was never such a plot. Nizar and his children were dead;
Hasan had no motive for wanting to kill the man who was now offering him peace and cooperation. But the Vizier was a Twelver (not an Ismaili); he had good reason for wanting to prevent the
reconciliation. And Hasan’s reputation was such that any mud would stick. The Caliph took the “plot” so seriously that he ordered that all the citizens of Cairo should be
registered, and that all strangers should be carefully watched. Many “agents of Hasan” were arrested and executed, including the tutor of the Caliph’s children.
And so the last hope vanished. And in May 1144, Hasan bin Sabbah, one of the most remarkable
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